Bittersweet
by Fireglass
Summary: -It was the evening following the final battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and Harry sat down to have a much-longed-after drink with his father.- Slightly AU, DH Spoilers, James and Harry. Mild H/G and of course J/L.


_Bittersweet_

It was the evening following the final battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and Harry—windswept, aching frightfully, exhausted—sat down in the plush and comfortable sitting room of the Burrow to have a much-longed-after drink with his father.

Harry and James sat facing each other with two tables in between them, in matching armchairs beside the roaring fire; Harry clutched a bottle of firewhiskey in his left hand, James in his right, and they watched each other without speaking…watched each other hungrily, eyes roving, memorizing the planes of the face and the set of the eyes that made them reflections of one another, quietly taking into account all that they had missed over the past sixteen years.

For today James Potter had been resurrected; it was the talk all around Hogwarts, the thing people said the most to him when they came to slap his back and shake his hand and cry on his shoulder—well, all of the adults said it, anyway. Most people his age were too young or too stupid to see how the world had so drastically changed.

And now Harry was content to have a moment with his father, and as the warmth of the fire and the whiskey washed through him, he felt the dizzy urge to speak.

Harry opened his mouth, as did James, convulsively, and they both broke off mid-word to exchange sheepish smiles at the almost-interruption. Harry hid his embarrassment by taking a quick draft of his drink, and James followed suit, perhaps to deaden the awkwardness of the situation.

Harry felt his discomfort ease away as the alcohol spread through his veins; this was his _father _he was going to speak to, after all, someone he had desired to converse with and spend time with and train with and _live with_ for all of his life. Why should he feel so strained about it now?

_Perhaps_, he thought, _it wouldn't be so strange if we weren't so alike, and if we didn't keep almost-interrupting each other_.

The likeness was quite true, Harry admitted to himself; he had never realized until now how very much _alike _he and his father looked. It made him feel strangely proud, and with that pride came, again, that mad urge to speak.

" It's…good to see you." Harry blurted at last, but James spoke at the same time, Harry's words fully masking and muting his, and they leaned away from each other, grimacing.

_Why is this so hard?_

" Harry?"

He thought two voices spoke…one that he faintly recognized and one that he knew full well. He blinked as two redheads entered the room…one seeming to materialize at James' shoulder, the other coming to stand at his.

_Ginny._

" Hey, Ginny." Harry mumbled, turning to face her. It was difficult to wrench his eyes away from the woman at his father's side…because she could only be his mother, could only be Lily Evans Potter, whose love had saved him time and time again throughout the last few perilous years. No one was speaking of her resurrection tonight, but he had known it all along…he had felt it inside of him, even as they reached the Burrow. But this was the first he had seen of her, and now he wanted to feast his eyes on her…the mother he had missed so much...

Because already, he couldn't remember exactly what she looked like…it had only been hours since he had seen her face, just before he had gone to face his death, and yet the details were hazy, undefined…perhaps a result of the drink…

" Harry, are you…?" Ginny's wide eyes fell on the bottle in his hand, and Harry thrust it toward her, wishing she could share in the utter joy he felt at seeing his parents in the room, just beside him, so near he could touch them!

" Wanna drink, Ginny?" Harry's voice sounded slow to his own ears; he offered her a sloppy grin, which she returned reluctantly, and then she pushed the bottle gently away, toward his chest.

" That's okay, Harry, you enjoy it. I expect you've earned it." Her smile was a touch off, not quite reaching her eyes, but there was no lack of love in her gaze as it roved over his face.

" Hey, Ginny, say hello to my parents!" Harry gestured, glancing over his shoulder at his father, who was just turning to stare at him, as well, having been locked in a quiet conversation with Lily. Harry and his father exchanged enormous grins at the site of each other's red-headed loves, and then Harry swiveled back around in the armchair to face Ginny, who was looking between him and his parents with a rather interested gaze.

" Harry, your parents…" She hesitated, searching for the right word, and then her face broke into a slight smile. " They're lovely. Hello, Mister Potter, Missus Potter." She ducked her head rather shyly, then planted a kiss on Harry's head. " I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

" G'night, Ginny." Harry yawned, and then he slumped back around in the chair, just in time to see his mother departing, as well, her hair swaying languidly about her shoulders. This sudden leave-taking surprised Harry…didn't she want to stay, to see him?

" Mum, don't go!" Harry pleaded, reaching out for her, ignoring James, who looked as though he might like to hinder Harry from rising and following his mother. A terrible pain swelled in Harry's heart. " Mum, please, stay…"

She paused a mere foot from James' chair, and glanced back; her eyes were cast red in the light of the fire, and they were inexplicably sad.

" We'll have forever, Harry." She whispered. " Isn't that good enough?"

He didn't try to comprehend her words; he only turned away, ducking his head over his drink, and when he had swallowed another draught and glanced up, she was gone; there was only himself and his father, James watching him carefully, and Harry forced another grin as he raised his bottle. James echoed the smile and lifted his own drink aloft.

" To life." They toasted simultaneously, and then they downed long drafts of the burning ale; Harry felt it smoldering its way into his stomach, and his mind grew a token fuzzier at its passing.

" I missed you, dad." He murmured, without looking up as he spun the firewhiskey bottle in his hands. " I missed you, and mum, and Sirius, and I'm going to miss Remus, too…"

He closed his eyes, and his father's words were like a breath in his mind…

" The dead are never truly gone, Harry, not the ones we love with all of our heart. They live on inside of us, inside of _you_…in every breath you take, that was a gift from your mother…in every spell you cast, that Remus and Dumbledore taught you…in every moment you embrace like it was your last, as Sirius showed you to…in every second you revel in the life that I gave you…we will live on, in that, in your self and everything you hold dear. Harry, you'll never be alone."

Harry felt emotion flooding over him, a heady thing, so much more powerful even than the feelings that had consumed him as he watched the last and greatest enemy crumple like a disused kemp-sack against the stone floor of the Great Hall. It had only been hours ago, but it had been a dying as well…the dying of the old life and the start of the new, the one with Voldemort in it in the one without.

And at this realization, renewed, that his enemy was dead, Harry felt the effects of the firewhiskey burning off. Desperate need pooled in his stomach, and he lifted his head to meet James' burning eyes.

" Miss you." Harry mouthed, and James echoed the words as well.

And then Harry was on his feet, and James was on his, and they stumbled toward one another; and Harry reached out, to touch his father, to embrace him, to feel that empty chasm in his heart molding closed.

His fingers were an inch from his father's…

And then it was as if their hands had hit an invisible, unbreakable barrier; their fingertips could not touch. Harry stood for a moment, meeting his father's anguished eyes, mere inches away, with agony ripping and tearing through him…and then he splayed his hand wide on what seemed to be empty air, and leaned forward until his forehead touched the glass.

The firelight reflected on the single table in the room, flickering across the gilt and the hearth, dancing madly around Harry Potter, alone, and the shimmering mirror that leaned against the wall.

* * *

_This one refused to stay out of my head. Had to write it. Cross-posted to my one-shot collection Brevis Fabula. Please, please review._


End file.
